Hope Failure

I was wearing some sandals and going to a bar, and was worried that they might not allow that kind of shoe. There was a 10 dollar cover, and a female greeter who was collecting the money. Someone passed by the line to walk into the bar.

man in line: "Hey, stop! Get in line!"

greeter: "He already paid and was inside earlier. You don't have to wait in line twice."

man in line: "Oh."

When it came my turn, the shoes appeared to not be an issue. I handed her the $10.

greeter: "We're all glad to see you're eating more than once every 24 hours now."

At first I was confused, but then I realized this was an allusion to a removal of a statement on an internet profile that had said I only ate once a day. At first I nodded, but then I stopped.

me: "Let me just be clear, here. You are referring to that profile on the Internet? Who are you, and why would you read it? And who else are you talking about with 'we'?"

greeter: "You have a lot of followers."

me: "Why?"

greeter: "Because you're one of the most influential creators of C compilers with a spotty history."

me: (annoyed) "Spotty how? What makes you and your invisible people so amazing?"

greeter: "You need to talk to Shawna McGee."

Note
Name is approximate, but it was something like that.

The greeter abandoned her post at the door to lead me into the bar, to a long table where people were speaking. Everyone seemed to know me. I sat down next to two girls with fairly short red hair. A tall guy spoke.

tall guy: "Oh, here it is, in a body of a man this time. Some secret project."

me: (becoming lucid) "Look, I've been a man all my life and can account for my time pretty much from birth. You're making a mistake."

Another guy seated at the table shook his head.

seated guy: "It doesn't even know what it is. And I'm going to have to live in his house for seventeen years."

me: "I don't have a house. What house?"

seated guy: "The one in Brooklyn Heights."

Note
I don't remember ever hearing about it, but it's not surprising that there is such a neighborhood called "Brooklyn Heights".

I went through an awakening phase where lost lucidity. Somehow I was reading a response to a message on an Internet personal ad service. The subject line was "Hope failure" (which I perceived as some kind of response to a title in the original message that had been a play on the word hope). Content of the message was something like:

You seem very serious. And I hate serious. Also, even if that weren't an issue, there's the age difference.

I didn't know who this person was or what they were replying to. So I clicked on the profile. It was a not particularly attractive or interesting woman who I didn't remember contacting.

Note

I was going to write something like:

"Thank you for your response. It's nice to know that messages are delivered. It would save a lot of trouble for you [and others] if you would use the site's features for specifying age filters on those you are interested in having contact you.

I'll make a note here that you hate people who have a serious side...and will pass that info on to area hospitals. Next time you need surgery, you will be appointed highly trained clowns instead of doctors who have studied dry old medicine. :P"

Currently I am experimenting with using Disqus for comments, however it is configured that you don't have to log in or tie it to an account. Simply check the "I'd rather post as a guest" button after clicking in the spot to type in a name.

The accounts written here are as true as I can manage. While the
words are my own, they are not independent creative works of fiction
—in any intentional way. Thus I do not consider the material to
be protected by anything, other than that you'd have to be
crazy to want to try and use it for genuine purposes (much less
disingenuous ones!) But who's to say?